


Shattering Truths

by stingrae90



Series: The Forging of the Coin [2]
Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Companion Piece, Gen, Magic Reveal, Mild Language, set late season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stingrae90/pseuds/stingrae90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic is evil. It corrupts everything and everyone it touches. So how can Merlin...well, how can Merlin still be the clumsy idiot he'd always been?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattering Truths

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to The Luxury of Trust, focusing in on Arthur's thoughts, instead of Merlin's. Because Arthur is pushy that way, and didn't want to be left out. 
> 
> In contrast to TLoT, this story doesn't revolve so heavily around the issue of trust, though it is a recurring theme in the plot. Arthur has to rearrange his entire world-view. It takes some doing. And he's not especially happy about it. So be warned: Arthur curses when he's mad.

Arthur stood for a moment over the crumpled form of the last of his enemies, panting and scanning the clearing for any _more_ threats. If someone had taken advantage of the chaos of battle to slip away, planning to ambush him after everything was seemingly won…well, it wasn't going to work. He was a trained Knight of Camelot and the Crown Prince. He _knew_ better than to let his guard down before it was confirmed every single one of his enemies was incapacitated or dead.

Even if he really did want to have a royal fit of temper right there in the middle of the clearing. _Right this very instant._ Because, honestly, he was _entitled_ to a fit of temper after finding out… _that thing_ about his idiotic manservant.

Not quite managing to suppress his growl, Arthur very pointedly _did not_ look at the scorched corpse lying just inside the tree line across from him. And he assuredly _did not_ want to freak out at how close a call he'd just had. And he _definitely_ wasn't thinking about what the bumbling idiot had done with the –

_Damn it all!_

Even if there had been any bandits who had escaped, his servant's display in killing the other sorcerer would have petrified anyone with even half their wits. And he wasn't even breathing hard!

Arthur covertly glanced the dark haired man's way as he deliberately cleaned his sword with slow and careful movements. He needed time to think, and he didn't want him to know he wasn't looking for non-existent bandits just yet. What he saw almost made him stop his delaying tactics.

The newly revealed sorcerer was swaying slightly where he stood, clothing rumpled, hair swept every which way by the unnatural wind that he had called and his expression was one of such conflicting emotions that Arthur – never the best at dealing with emotions in the first place – had true difficulty in interpreting them.

Was it disgust? Anger? Fear? Horror?

…sorrow?

Arthur couldn't tell. He couldn't tell and it bothered him not to be able to read what was going through that thick head by looking at the idiot's face. He had _always_ been able to read his manservant like a book. The man didn't know how to lie convincingly to save his life!

Only _damn it all_ , he _did._ He lied to save his life every day, and it was just not _right!_

With a growl, Arthur gave up the pretense of scanning the woods for incredibly stupid non-existent bandits wanting to give the powerful sorcerer a reason to target _them_ next, and slammed his sword into the sheath. The screech of the abused metal drew startled and wary blue eyes towards the prince, and the anxious look only infuriated Arthur further. Growling low in his throat, Arthur spun away from his manservant – no, the _sorcerer_ – and started to pace furiously. There was a resigned sigh from behind him, nearly drowned out by the _thump_ of a body hitting the ground.

Arthur whirled on his heel, not wanting to admit that he was worried that the younger man had fainted – of course such power was too much for him, this was _clumsy, idiotic Mer_ – no, no it wasn't. He was just feeling stupid for having turned his back on a very apparent magical threat.

But it was hard to see that, looking at the man sprawled on the ground as if his legs had just given out, his arms only barely keeping him from flopping rather awkwardly on the ground, twisted around as he was. But it was his expression which again arrested Arthur's attention. There wasn't any mistaking _that_ expression, even if Arthur had never expected or wanted to see it on his manservant's face.

It was resigned expectation, mixed with the kind of anticipatory horror that only those condemned for magic and waiting for the pyre to be lit ever managed.

It looked so wrong on his manservant's face but it was _right_ that he regret his actions! He had studied magic! It was the highest of treasons, made all the worse by the fact that he was _a member of the royal household,_ and privy to information no one not completely and utterly loyal to the Pendragons should be able to get.

Unable to look at the traitor any more – conflicting emotions and images of the man collapsed on the ground were warring in his head - Arthur spun on his heel again, snarled and stalked to the other end of the clearing once more.

In the absence of the desire to run the traitor through – no matter how much he _should_ do it; it was what duty required of him – Arthur wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. He attempted to order his thoughts through his pounding gate.

How was he supposed to handle this? He had trusted him! _Trusted a sorcerer!_ He had even gone to retrieve that stupid flower after the idiot drank the poison for him! He'd nearly gotten killed and for what? Some sorcerer that wanted his death and his father's death? The complete destruction of the peace and prosperity his father was fighting so hard to bring back to Camelot?

And yet…the idiot's face when he had drunk that poisoned wine…surely he wouldn't have knowingly – as he obviously _had_ known – taken poison for a man he intended to kill later. It didn't make sense. Why not let another do his work for him, keep the suspicion off of himself, let the foreigner take the blame. Why not let what was admittedly one of the better executed plans of one of his _own kind_ proceed without interference? It was what any _normal_ sorcerer would have done. So much easier to lay the blame on others, let innocents take the blame for what they themselves had done. Sorcery led only to evil…corrupting even the most innocent of people with its dark power –

Reaching the edge of the clearing, Arthur spun on his heel again, creating a divot in the already abused ground, but he didn't much care. He noticed that his hand had clenched on the hilt of his sword without his permission and wrenched it away, pulling at his hair instead. Pacing back towards the clearing's center brought the object of his thoughts back into his view and remembered words from so long ago popped unbidden into his mind.

" _It was me. It was me who used magic to cure Gwen's father. Gwen is not the sorcerer. I am."_

Was he completely and utterly _stupid_? Admitting what he was in front of the entire court! In front of the king, no less! If Arthur hadn't –

It was too much. He couldn't look at the traitor. He spun on his heel again, not bothering to worry over how he had gripped the hilt of his sword yet again. It felt comforting to feel the rough grip under his hand.

 _Damn it_ , how much of his hasty defense of his manservant had been honest concern for a stupid, clumsy servant with a heart too big for his own good, and how much had been prompted by sorcery? Had he been forced to defend him? Compelled and ensorcelled to bolster the shroud of incredulity that surrounded Gaius' ward and protected him from suspicion?

Arthur nearly yelled aloud in protest, instead spinning on his heel to march back towards the clearing's center. The idiot _still_ hadn't gotten off the ground, and how suicidal was that? He should be running for his life! Using that whirlwind thing sorcerers seemed so fond of to transport himself elsewhere and…and he had _no right_ to look so _defeated!_

"You-" he snarled, unable to keep silent any longer, but finding the appropriate words to express his fury and betrayal was nearly impossible. "You can't-" No, that still wasn't right. " _You aren't allowed-"_ Frustration and anger bubbled so close to the surface, choking his words and Arthur – still not quite conscious of doing it – again grabbed for his sword's hilt, and released it after confirming it was still there.

The blue eyes he had thought so familiar until he had seen them gleam gold watched him apprehensively. As Arthur watched, the traitor visibly gathered his nerve and spoke. "I'm…not allowed…?" came quietly over the space between them. Then, louder, as Arthur wasn't sure what he wanted to say to that. No, he _bloody well wasn't allowed to practice magic!_ "I swear, Arthur, I have never betrayed you."

Ha! Never betrayed him? He'd been betrayed the moment he _met_ the idiot!

"I've had magic since I was born. It's a part of me, and I've never used it for anything but protecting-"

Arthur couldn't believe the man was lying to his face even now. What was the _point?_ Anger disturbingly similar to the emotion that had gripped him when he had nearly killed his father over Morgause's poisoned tale of the circumstances surrounding his birth gripped him.

" _Shut up before I kill you."_

It was as much a plea as an order, but the anger and confusion he felt at remembering that horrible day drowned out the sorrow that wanted to express itself in his voice. His manservant had been the one to talk him down that day. The one who had reminded him of the foul nature of magic, the evils its practitioners continuously enacted…

 _Gods,_ what was more ironic than a _sorcerer_ proclaiming the truth of the evils of magic?

And that same man was now staring meekly at the ground, tense all over, but making no move to escape. His mouth was clenched in a tight line, but he spoke not one syllable – none to further his lies, and none to call his magic. Arthur pulled his hand from his sword's hilt, yet again, and blew out a deep breath.

How could one person, one _sorcerer_ , be this confusing?

"You…how…" Running his hands through his hair, Arthur let himself simply feel the grief of losing a person he had cared for – far more than he should! – to sorcery. Then the anger surged forward again. There was no room for regret when dealing with magic. He jerked his head back up, glaring directly into deceptive blue. The least sign of gold would be his signal to attack. "How long have you…had _magic?_ "

The word tasted bitter on his tongue, as much a curse as anything the traitor before him could call down and Arthur observed with a sort of bitter satisfaction that the small hints of hope had died in those blue eyes. The prince watched, angry and tense, as with laborious slowness, his former manservant pulled himself from the ground and knelt, back as straight as Arthur had ever seen it. A faint smile curved his lips.

"Mother's always been fond of reminding me I had a habit of throwing her cooking pot across the hut before I'd figured out how to crawl."

That…he…

For a moment, Arthur couldn't speak. Could only glare. That he would _still be claiming_ to have been born with that power, have practiced it at such a young age…it was _beyond_ comprehension. Surely the kindly woman he had met when he had gone to Ealdor to rescue it from…

Arthur saw again his manservant's back and a rising whirlwind, so obviously out of place, but undeniably helping turn the tide of battle.

He had dared to use magic _in front of the crown prince of Camelot._ He…just…it was _suicidal_. Every other sorcerer fled Camelot, only coming there to attack himself or his father. Occasionally going for the entire populace instead, but never with the intent to _live_ there. The question came before he had quite thought it through.

"Why did you stay in Camelot, when you knew sorcery was forbidden?"

Well, he couldn't take the question back now, and it was a valid one. This would be the true test. Would the sorcerer _still_ lie to him, now when there was nothing left to lose? His life…well. Arthur regarded the kneeling man with as much regal disdain as he could manage. He could not appear weak, not now, and no matter how much he just wanted to scream at the wrongness of this entire situation.

He couldn't deny that he was curious, though.

"I…" The word was barely above a whisper and blue eyes were closed. When had he done that? Arthur tensed, ready for a last-minute attack, but none of the deadly words of the Old Religion came forth when the other man spoke again, this time in a more normal tone of voice. His expression was an odd mix of confusion and self-recrimination. "I didn't think."

Obviously he hadn't. But then, when had he ever thought through his actions?He always jumped into situations without thinking it through fir-

Belatedly, Arthur realized that he was coming dangerously close to letting the sorcerer manipulate him into feeling _sorry_ for him and quickly locked those thoughts away, face twisting in fury.

"I had seen an execution on the first day I came, right after I got to the city, but…I guess it never really registered that it could be _me_ up on that platform, you know? And to be condemned for something that I'd been born with? I couldn't see it. And then, at Lady Helen's banquet…"

When the blue eyes opened again, Arthur had gotten his expression back under control, anger still present, but no longer dominating his expression. He had to be the crown prince right now. Later he could just be Arthur, and rage at the unfairness and betrayal of this revelation.

"It wouldn't have been very smart to refuse a reward from your father, not when I'd have had to explain why I didn't want to be your manservant. And then…I just didn't want to leave."

Memories assaulted Arthur. Memories of Lady Helen's banquet, of a knife slicing through the oddly heavy air right for his chest, of being unable to move even though he knew he _should_ , a sudden shock as a heavy weight slammed into him from the side. The oddly regretful voice speaking in his manservant's familiar tones seemed strangely distant to him right now. He was grateful that the sorcerer wasn't looking at him anymore. Somehow, it made it easier to focus on the facts of the situation and to hear the truths at last being spoken.

"You'll be a great king, someday, Arthur, and I want to see that. Wanted to, I mean. I wanted…I wanted to show you that not everyone with magic is evil. Not every magical being wants you dead. Even if I couldn't tell you…and – I guess that's all I can say. I'm sorry."

Hazy memories of other events, a faint smirk on a familiar face as Arthur boasted of his exploits, floated to the surface of the prince's mind. He frowned heavily, feeling as if the very ground he walked upon had been tilted dangerously askew. There was something off in this situation, something else wrong beyond the revelation of his manservant as a sorcerer.

"You've saved my life." Arthur stated flatly, still trying to chase down the elusive feeling and feeling his anger trying to reassert itself as a controlling force. He forced it back, but didn't beat it down. He _wanted_ to be angry right now. It would let him focus. "With magic."

The simple answer that came was the only one that could be given, and yet it was still a surprise. "Yes."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man who was still kneeling before him, back almost painfully straight and hands resting passively on his thighs. "Like you did today. And if there hadn't been another sorcerer after me, you never would have revealed yourself." The thought was circling closer. He almost knew what else was wrong with the situation. Stating facts seemed to be bringing more coherence to his thought processes than the furious pacing had done. "Just continued lying to me and practicing magic in the heart of Camelot."

The spike of anger that fact produced wasn't helped by the repeated "Yes."

The clear regret and pain in that voice made his former manservant seem suddenly much older than he was. Memories of other instances where he might have died but for the man kneeling not even ten feet from him rose in Arthur's mind as he frowned, thinking furiously.

That was it, he realized, gaze resting on the trees to his right, but not truly registering the green of the leaves or the brown of the trunks. What was wrong here wasn't that the idiot of a servant was a sorcerer, though that was certainly part of it. It was that he didn't _act_ like a sorcerer should, like every experience Arthur had ever had indicated he _should._

He – no, _Merlin_. Arthur's mouth tightened as his jaw clenched, but he forced himself to face the truth he had been trying to bury beneath his anger. He wasn't going to kill Merlin. He couldn't kill his manservant, sorcerer or not. There was too much between them, too many shared dangers and confidences.

And Arthur wasn't so sure sorcerer was the appropriate word to use in regards to the idiot, anyway. Sorcerers were evil, bitter, angry people – man or woman mattered little with the corruption of magic – and Merlin was anything but.

Oh, he still got angry at times, but never that all-consuming hatred that drove so many people to try for revenge on the Pendragons. Shouldn't that tell him something? If Merlin was thwarting the plans of his own kind – proper term or not, he had magic just like those others had – shouldn't Arthur be asking _why?_

His father wouldn't think so, Arthur knew. He would have already had Merlin killed, or thrown in the dungeons to await a pyre. The thought sent a chill down Arthur's spine and he tensed all his muscles, holding onto his lingering anger at Merlin's betrayal to keep from shivering.

He'd told his father before that loyalty should not be rewarded with a disregard for the risking of a life, even if that life was a servant's. The fact that he had been advocating Merlin's survival – a _sorcerer's_ – survival didn't change the fact that the truth of that statement remained.

The idiot had stayed at his side through everything that had occurred the past couple years. He had almost _died_ for Arthur several times. The loyalty of those actions was glaringly obviously when looked at objectively. Whatever motive Merlin had for serving the prince of a kingdom with laws that condemned him for even breathing…well, it wasn't revenge. It wasn't anything so wholly negative in nature. Whatever it was, it was strong, and Arthur was sure it was _good._

How did all of this _fit?_ Arthur just couldn't figure it out. By the weight of experience, Arthur knew Merlin ought to be spitting with rage right now and attempting to fry Arthur the same way he had the other sorcerer. But he _wasn't._ Couldn't the moron get _anything_ right? He even turned sorcery into something that didn't inspire the immediate desire to get rid of the threat in Arthur, who had been taught since birth of its evils.

"Look, if you don't mind, could you just get on with it?" Merlin's tense voice broke his train of thought and Arthur couldn't help his slight jump. He hadn't thought his manservant was going to speak until asked another direct question. "Not that I don't appreciate not being dragged back to Camelot to burn, but this waiting around is a bit hard on the nerves, you know?"

Arthur made sure his balance was again under his control, and turned to Merlin, genuinely confused. Merlin surely couldn't mean what his words implied.

"Get on with what?"

The rolled eyes and the incredulous look he was granted in return were as familiar as the weight of his sword at his side. Despite himself, Arthur felt both reassured and further angered. Why did everything to do with Merlin have to get needlessly complicated?

"I know the law just as well as you do, Arthur. I have magic. Therefore I _must_ be evil. So I have to die. Even if all I've ever done is _protect you with it._ " The sarcasm hung thick and heavy in the air between them and Merlin's next words nearly stole the breath from Arthur's lungs without the benefit of magic to aid them. "Would you just kill me already?"

Seriously?

Just…really? _Really?_ The clumsy idiot really thought that Arthur would just kill him. Without regard for the time they'd spent together, all the danger they'd faced side by side? The anger that had started to recede slightly as Arthur reconciled himself to the thought of a sorcerer who didn't mean any harm to Camelot or him personally flared again, before being buried under the weight of his disbelief as Merlin's steady gaze proved the servant really believed what he had just implied.

He believed he was going to be killed, and yet he still stayed on his knees, making no attempt at an escape?

Face set, Arthur drew his sword as he closed the distance separating him from the kneeling man. If Merlin wanted to play it this way, then Arthur was going to use this. He would find out right now if he could trust Merlin not to be a threat to Camelot and the king.

His resolve nearly faltered when Merlin lifted his head, baring his neck for a clean, killing stroke.

He actually believed Arthur was going to kill him. Merlin really thought Arthur would be able to end his life in cold blood. The anger started to simmer again. Did his manservant have no faith in his character? Didn't Merlin trust him?

Uncomfortably aware that the answer was probably no – and with good reason – Arthur still couldn't bring himself to swing for the offered target, even though he knew he wasn't going to follow through. Instead, he leveled the sword at Merlin's chest, pressing the tip into Merlin's tunic hard enough to pierce the fabric. Right over his heart.

Surprise flared in Merlin's eyes before he set his jaw, tensed in preparation for the thrust, and closed his eyes.

He didn't move.

Arthur's mouth dropped open slightly. He had been prepared for a sudden burst of wind, an invisible force shoving him backwards, or even another fireball. He had been prepared for a flinch backwards, a sudden crumbling of resolve in the face of oncoming death, a desperate attempt at escape.

Merlin had done none of that.

He really was going to just kneel there like he had for the past five minutes – if not longer, Arthur had no idea how long he had been lost in thought before Merlin had broken into his reverie – and let the prince he had served shove a sword straight into his heart and end his life.

Arthur shook his head and fought back his first offended response, feeling his face twist as he tried not to let it show how much that thought hurt. "You really think I'll just kill you, don't you?"

Merlin's blue eyes blinked open, disbelief shining as brightly in his stunned gaze as any emotion Arthur had ever seen him express. "Um…" he ventured as Arthur carefully withdrew his sword and sheathed it again. "Yes?"

Anger started to rise again, though Arthur would have been hard pressed to say if it was directed more at Merlin's suicidal tendencies or his own blindness to what should have been obvious, and Arthur didn't try to fight it down this time. One fist clenched at his side, but punching Merlin wouldn't solve this.

"I'm furious," he ground out. Oh, wasn't _that_ an understatement. "I feel like you betrayed me-" And yet, even though Merlin had lied to save his own life, Arthur _had_ been betrayed. "You _did_ betray my trust. But I can't just kill you in cold blood."

He was a _knight_ , damn it! He did not kill men on their knees, men who had surrendered all will to fight. Merlin didn't seem to appreciate the unspoken thought, though, because he simply glared right back at his prince.

"So dragging me back to Camelot to _burn in a slow and agonizing death_ is the better choice?" Arthur felt as if he would choke on the sorrow and surety in those words. Merlin really thought he was…thought that Arthur would… "Well, I'm so glad your conscience will be clear, _Sire,_ but a fiery death isn't exactly one of the things I ever wanted to experience!"

Arthur didn't think he'd ever heard Merlin imbue such sarcasm and pain into his title before. It made confusion rise to match the anger already swirling so close to the surface.

"But you'd let me, wouldn't you? You'd let me take you back to your death." It came out sounding much more like a question than Arthur was comfortable with, but he went on anyway. Merlin was _still_ kneeling at his feet. "You've been saying I'd drag you back to Camelot, to face my father, but you've never said anything about trying to escape. You haven't even _moved_ since you knelt there."

Honest confusion showed through the grief in his manservant's eyes. "I wouldn't try to escape," he said firmly, resolute and sure in his convictions. "I'd be playing into every single prejudice and myth Uther has told you about magic and the people that use it." Arthur couldn't help but be impressed by the level of control Merlin was exerting over his emotions. His voice hadn't broken even once. The sorcerer glanced away, swallowing hard. Arthur shook his head slowly in disbelief. How could a peasant show more conviction in his ideals than some of Arthur's best knights? It was so odd to see that, but Merlin wasn't the only person of common blood who'd surprised Arthur lately. "It was my destiny to protect you." Arthur refocused on Merlin's words as the kneeling man regained the ability to speak. "I am happy to serve you, till the day I die. That won't ever change."

Arthur jerked backwards, feeling as if the ground had been literally yanked away from his feet. Merlin's voice, speaking the same words, came back to him, bringing back the memory of pain and haze and the determinedly suppressed confusion and guilt of _how am I still alive?_

" _I'm happy to serve you till the day I die."_

He…he did something, Arthur realized. Something that might…no, should have ended in Merlin's own death. Arthur felt like cursing himself for a fool. Even as out of it as he had been, he should have _known_ Merlin was going to do something stupidly heroic. It hadn't just been some odd attempt at making Arthur feel better after his near death experience, an attempt to make him forget he had survived when one of his knights had not.

And just like that, Arthur felt the last of his doubts about Merlin's loyalty and dedication to Camelot – to Arthur – vanish. He laughed – in relief, in disbelief. But he laughed. Merlin had magic, but he hadn't changed.

"You, _Mer_ lin, are an idiot."

The familiar phrase was a comfort to Arthur's frayed nerves, as was the startled look on Merlin's face as his head snapped up to stare at his prince. Arthur crouched barely a foot from the kneeling man and jabbed a finger into his face, feeling oddly satisfied as Merlin's eyes crossed trying to follow it.

"You're not dying today."

He was still angry, but it was manageable now. It was more of an undercurrent to his confused emotions. He would have to sort out how to handle this new knowledge later. After all, Merlin couldn't be the _only_ exception to the general rule Arthur had believed for all of his life. How many other sorcerers had been killed just for being who they were?

With a bit of a start, Arthur realized that he had even come to accept Merlin's claim of being magic from birth as the truth.

"I'm not?" Merlin's confused voice drew Arthur's attention from this highly shocking revelation. You could be _born_ with magic? Arthur managed to shake his head, though his sigh had more to do with how much he now realized he just _didn't know_ about magic. He sat down heavily. "Why not? I'm-"

Oh, for the love of –

"-a sorcerer. Yes. I'd noticed." Arthur looked at Merlin, and felt sorrow and regret mingling with his still present anger at the guarded hope in those open blue eyes. Merlin shouldn't…well. It didn't matter, now. What was, was. "I'm not blind, Merlin. I didn't forget what you did." Indeed, he'd be lucky if he could ever get the image out of his head! "And…and now I realize how many of the things that are just _off_ about you make sense now." His odd confidence when they rode out to danger, despite his horrible weapons skills and lack of protective armor. His nearly depressed moods after every execution. The horrible excuses for what must have been magical activities that Arthur had never wanted to expend the energy to figure out before. His oddly unscathed but breathless appearance after every magical threat had been defeated. "You've been saving me for…" Arthur tried to put at time frame on it, and found he couldn't. "I don't even _know_ how long!" His head shook almost of its own accord; he was too busy seeing every event of the past couple years through a new light. "I'd think if you were like those other sorcerers, you'd have killed me long before now. You've had plenty of opportunities, after all." So many threats, so many sorcerers inexplicably having their magic or spells fail them at crucial moments. He'd thought it simply an indication of the volatile nature of magic, its intrinsic unreliability and evil nature. But... "You're powerful, aren't you?" he mused aloud. "A lot more than the sorcerers that keep attacking Camelot."

Arthur could feel Merlin's eyes on him, but he continued to stare off at the trees. He didn't particularly want to look at Merlin right now. Merlin didn't speak for a long moment, tension hanging heavy in the air between them.

"…yes," he finally conceded, before tacking on a qualifier before Arthur could properly get worked up at how easily Merlin could destroy Camelot if he was _that_ powerful."Mostly. Some of them have been really _hard_ to defeat or kill." Was it wrong to hope that Merlin struggled with most of those other sorcerers? Arthur was having enough trouble dealing with the thought of a sorcerer as an ally of Camelot. He really didn't know how he'd deal with knowing Merlin was easily a match for any of the magical threats that had come their way. "I don't always know what I'm doing. I have to teach myself most spells. There's no one in Camelot who can teach me. And there wasn't anyone else in Ealdor who had magic like me."

This time, Arthur remembered a dying man and a pained smirk.

" _What are you going to do? Kill me?"_

"So Will was never a sorcerer. The whirlwind was you."

He really didn't know why he was surprised. Merlin had said it himself. He would never have revealed himself if there had been another choice. Some other way to save Arthur's life.

"…yeah," came eventually from the still tense man in front of him. "Will took the blame so you wouldn't kill me. He never had magic." The guilt evident in Merlin's voice was the only thing that kept Arthur from feeling disgust at his manservant letting another man take the blame for what had been his own action. "He knew about mine though. Will was the only one besides my mother who knew in Ealdor."

This was too much. Arthur couldn't process all this. Not right now. He needed to get away from Merlin for a little while, figure out how to handle this new knowledge. But they still had to get back to Camelot, and then he would have to deal with his father –

"Look, would you just _say_ something?" Merlin's interruption was not entirely unexpected this time. It was still _Merlin,_ after all. He didn't have a clue how to be quiet and let someone think. It'd be quicker to just let him get whatever it was off his chest. Arthur turned his head to regard his manservant, silent. "I'm not dying today. Okay, fine." Frightened and angry, Merlin's blue eyes glared at him. "It's still just a stay of execution and I've got to tell you, it's really NOT appreciated." Arthur's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't say anything just yet. Merlin wasn't going to stop. If he interrupted, Merlin would just start talking louder, and they really didn't need curious travelers overhearing this conversation. "Waiting around and wondering how you're going to die isn't really pleasant. If you want to know about all the times I've used magic to save your prat-ly behind, I'll tell you." Arthur twitched a bit at the insult, but Merlin didn't notice. "But _stop torturing me._ It's not fair. It's-"

Arthur didn't hear whatever Merlin said after that. Anger started to rise again and Arthur maintained a firm control on his voice to prevent that emotion from showing in his voice. Torture? Did Merlin really think that of him?

"I haven't touched you," he said, cutting off Merlin's tirade and the panic behind it. Merlin glared at him.

"You don't have to hit people to torture them!" he exploded, voice rising. Arthur bit his cheek to keep silent. If he spoke right now, all his hard earned calm was going to evaporate. And he might not be very good with emotions, but he _did_ know what Merlin sounded like when he was panicking. "Making me wonder what you're going to do is just as bad. Worse. You're making me imagine all sorts of things and they're _really_ not pleasant." Had the idiot not heard him when Arthur had said he wasn't going to die? "I've seen what your father does to sorcerers he doesn't kill right away, you know. I'd rather not become another number in-"

That was it. Arthur's tenuous control snapped and he lunged forward, grabbing two fistfuls of Merlin's tunic to drag the younger man forward, off-balance. It cut his panicky ramble off effectively, but Arthur was too incensed at the insult to his honor to really find Merlin's flailing amusing or to feel sympathetic for the terror the servant obviously felt.

"Listen to me, Merlin," he hissed, tightening his grip to prevent himself from doing something worse to his idiotic manservant. "You might be a sorcerer, but you're still an _idiot_ because you've apparently already forgotten what I told you, if you even heard me in the first place." Honestly, how could he be so _dense?_ "You," he said, low and intense, emphasizing his every word with a shake. "Are. Not. Going. To. Die. Today."

Merlin just rolled his eyes, and squirmed, trying to get out of Arthur's grip and failing. "So when will I?" he demanded, still twisting. Arthur wondered vaguely why Merlin wasn't using magic to get free, and felt some of his anger drain as the image of Merlin kneeling with Arthur's sword pressing into his chest came back to him. "Tomorrow? The day after? Maybe a week from now? You could at least afford me the courtesy of knowing the date of my own _execution_ , Sire."

He…that…Merlin was rambling, and he was a _moron_ and…

Arthur growled and shoved Merlin away from him. If he didn't get some distance, _now,_ he was going to either punch the sorcerer or attempt to strangle him, he wasn't sure which. " _Listen_ to me, you idiot," he ground out through clenched teeth. "You are not dying today. Or any day in the near future. Not for…for magic. Or _anything._ Camelot does not execute loyal servants for standing with their masters in the face of seemingly impossible odds and threats to their own lives."

Saying it aloud – Merlin wasn't going to die. He would live, even though he had magic. – eased Arthur's anger enough that he could smirk at the picture Merlin made: sprawled in the grass, dirt and leaves in his hair and astonishment writ large across his face. "Get it yet, _Mer_ lin?"

Arthur watched in satisfaction as Merlin's mouth opened and closed like a landed fish for several moments before he recovered his capacity for speech.

"You…you're…okay with it?" Hesitantly, as if he was just waiting for Arthur to scoff and run him through anyway, Merlin clarified that which didn't need any clarification. "My magic?"

Magic.

Gods. Merlin had magic.

How was he supposed to be okay with that? It was so _far_ from okay, and the fact that it turned Arthur's whole world-view upside-down was only one way in which it was not okay.

The smirk fell away as if it had never been. "No. I'm not," he said gravely. He stared at Merlin, and silently marveled at his own conviction in his next words. "But I admit that you're not evil and you are a true ally of Camelot. It's the only possible reason you wouldn't have fled once you realized how dangerous staying was to your own life."

" _I guess it never really registered that it could be_ me _up on that platform, you know?"_

Arthur sat back down as Merlin dragged himself to a seated position, brow furrowed in furious thought. Were this any other time, any other situation, Arthur might have made a comment about not injuring himself by thinking too hard.

But this wasn't any other time.

"So…you're not okay with it, but you're…" Merlin paused, searching for the right words, and Arthur let him, not offering any help. "…accepting it?"

Was that what he was doing? Accepting Merlin's magic? It didn't feel quite right, but Arthur had no other word for it, so he didn't protest. Merlin continued, hesitant and still fearful.

"What are you going to do?"

Arthur could feel his eyes sliding out of focus again, but this time he was focusing on the future, not the past. How was he going to explain this to his father? He would never accept Merlin; would never see that Merlin was, if anything, an _asset_ to Camelot, not a threat.

Something deep within Arthur cried at the thought of what he knew he had to do. He wouldn't allow Merlin to die for his suicidally brave actions and he _would_ die if the king knew about his powers.

Decision made, Arthur met Merlin's wary gaze steadily. "I'm going to report another attempted attack on Camelot, a magical threat disposed of." All of that was true. It was. And yet it didn't ease the sting of knowing he would be breaking the laws of Camelot and lying to his father all the same. "And the first chance we get," he continued, shoving the guilt down where it wouldn't interfere with his actions, "you are going to answer every question I have about what you've been doing exactly."

Merlin didn't protest, and Arthur felt his gut twist for an entirely different reason as his manservant nodded, wary and not at all sure of the offered truce. This was…they _trusted_ each other, didn't they? Was the truth enough to tear apart their bond, unspoken and unacknowledged as it was?

"You're not asking questions now?"

Arthur shook his head, desperately praying he wasn't imagining the fragile hope in Merlin's voice. "No. It'd be too much all at once." Merlin had magic. His manservant, who had been privy to so many state secrets, entrusted with so many private thoughts… "But…"

Arthur rose to his feet, needing an excuse to turn his back to Merlin. There was one question he wanted answered now, but he would never be able ask it if he looked at the sorcerer that was his manservant. Squaring his shoulders, he stared down the trees opposite him as if they were his latest opponent in the tournament ring. "I will ask this," he finally said. "Did you ever trust me?"

There was no sound behind him except for the rustle of fabric as Merlin got to his own feet. Arthur tried not to let the tension show in his shoulders as he waited. It was true that they couldn't be friends, but they were more than just master and servant. They'd been through too much, and saved each other's lives too often to be _just_ that anymore. Arthur had thought there was a firm trust in their bond, whatever it was.

But maybe he had only been deluding himself, lonely for a more equal companionship with a man his own age, with someone didn't care about his status or what he could give them in return for unasked for compliments and gifts.

The silence was starting to get unnerving. Arthur couldn't help turning slightly, though he refrained from completely turning around. "Merlin?" he asked, hating the note of pleading that had crept into his voice despite his efforts to appear unaffected.

Merlin was on his feet, and he closed his eyes, pain and regret evident on his face as he answered. "No, Arthur. You've always been my friend, but I did not trust you." As Merlin's head shook slowly from side to side, Arthur faced forward again, trying to pretend that hadn't felt like a punch to the gut. "I couldn't take the chance."

Teeth clenched, Arthur stalked out of the clearing, heading for Camelot, and heard Merlin follow him without a word.

It was logical that Merlin hadn't trusted him. Magic was a death sentence in Camelot, and as the crown prince, Arthur was duty-bound to uphold its laws.

It still stung more than he wanted to admit, that Merlin had hidden this from him for so long.


End file.
